


The Language Of Flowers

by blarfkey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey
Summary: Years as go, as a child, Lace learned all about the language of flowers. Each bloom had a special meaning, and you could use them to send coded messages. It's not something she's thought about since she left home until sprigs and blooms start appearing in her bedroll, around her tent, on her nightstand.Who is this mysterious admirer and do they really mean the intent behind each flower's message?
Relationships: Cole (Dragon Age)/Lace Harding
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13
Collections: A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	The Language Of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/gifts).



At first she thought it was a joke. She woke up with several blooms of Crystal Grace scattered around the front of her tent. In fact, she crushed one on accident heading in for sleep after watch. But her small team of scouts all denied it. 

She let them keep their secrets, if they wanted. Morale was low on the ground after the destruction of Haven, and forging ahead through the mountain wilderness on whatever vague directions the mage Solas gave her did not inspire much levity. 

Lace took one of the blooms into the tent with her and spun the delicate stem between her fingers as she waited for sleep. 

Years ago, her father had taught her the language of flowers. Each bloom had a secret meaning and you could send coded messages. He sent them to her mother all the time in little wildflower bouquets that would mysteriously appear on the table overnight. Once she started memorizing them herself, little clusters of blooms would appear on her nightstand as she woke up.

Daisies for innocence, pink roses for love. One time a blood lotus was floating in a saucer -- _fascination_ \-- and that day her father took her exploring a cave behind a waterfall. 

And when she took off to join the Inquisition, her last morning home he had strewn Crystal Grace over the pillow next to her -- _admiration_.

She thinks about that as she drifts off to sleep, the bloom placed gently on the ground next to her bed roll. 

Cole, Cadash’s latest acquisition, was a little strange if Lace was being honest. Some people said he was a demon, but he didn’t look like any demon she’d encountered. And some people called him a mage but he never carried a staff. Even Dorian needed a staff and he’d invented time travel magic. 

No one knew what Cole was, but they all knew what he wasn’t -- and that was normal. 

Or the general approximation of normal. Lace didn’t think it was quite fair when the dwarf Inquisitor had a glowing magical hand and Dorian could control corpses and Varric Tethras the world famous author ran around shooting things with a weapon that shouldn’t technically exist. 

Oh, and every day Lace encountered rips in the fabric of reality that let out magical beings from another dimension so . . .

Really what was normal anymore?

Besides the often cryptic comments that strayed unsettlingly close to her own thoughts, Lace didn’t mind his company as they traipsed through the Fallow Mire. Though once she did have to rescue him from one of the weird undead things while he flailed around on the shore of the lake. 

“You alright there, buddy?” she asked him, putting her hands on his shoulder to stabilize him. 

“The mud wants my feet to stay,” he replied, somewhat miserably. 

“Ah. Here.” She took his hand and pulled him slowly out of the mud. His fingers gripped hers, cold but strangely dry, and they linger a bit before they let go.

“Thank you,” he says, his face dark and hidden under the hat. (It looked ridiculous but Lace was a bit envious of that hat with this rain).

“Sure thing. Just . .don’t touch the water. I think it pisses them off.”

“Yes.” He looked out over the lake. “There are many old songs under the water.”

It sounded strange at first, but Lace kind of understood it. Each of these corpses had a life, a song of their own, silenced and turned into some kind of diseased nightmare. 

The thought alone sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Let’s catch up to the others,” she said, suddenly grateful not to be alone. 

“Yes.”

A few steps away from the lake, Cole started humming softly under his breath. It takes a moment for Lace to recognize the tune and it nearly makes her heart stop. 

Her mother hummed that tune on dreary, rainy days as she rolled out dough for bread or chopped vegetables for soup. The cheerful melody clashed greatly with the world around it but that was precisely why she sang it. 

_How_ does he know?

But the balm of that memory soothes over her discomfort and soon she found herself singing along with him as they marched down the path. 

The next night she found a pile of dawn lotus next to her pillow. No one in camp had seen anyone near her tent -- or so they claimed. 

She smiled and cupped one in her hand --- one of the only beautiful things in this nightmare place. 

Dawn Lotus: g _ratitude._

Some of her scouts called Cole _The Ghost_. There were rumors of him haunting the White Spire circle, killing innocents, but Lace didn’t consider that rumor for more than a second before dismissing it. If Cole was some kind of deranged killer, he had plenty of opportunities to hurt people in between scouting missions. 

Once they settled at Skyhold, Cole squirreled himself away in the top of the tavern, and he would often appear by her side like magic as she rested outside its doors, or listened to Meryden at one of the tables. Sometimes he even went with her to help her hunt outside the gates. 

And when she took to the battlements after a nightmare, or when anxiety over her family and her farm became a tight, suffocating ball in her chest, Cole would always be there waiting for her. A lot of people in the Inquisition twitched like a nervous horse around him, but the sight of his giant hat, his wide eyes, his colorless hair, brought nothing but comfort to her. 

Spirit, demon, mage -- Lace decided she didn’t care.

The Forbidden Oasis was an explorers dream come true. Of course, it was also full of traps and faulty bridges and a disturbing amount of dead bodies and wandering tunnels that spat you out somewhere completely random 

But Lace would take just about _any_ place over the Western Approach. Hell, she would go back to the Fallow Mire before she set foot in that hellscape again.

The oasis provided clean water and a shaded place to rest on top of some intriguing ruins, so Cadash settled in for a few days longer than necessary and that suited Lace just fine. 

Cole followed her like a shadow almost the entire time, offering pieces of cryptic commentary on the discoveries they found. Though Lace had not yet succumbed to the temptation of asking Solas just what exactly Cole _was,_ she’d accepted a long time ago that Cole was not _human_. Or from this side of the Veil. 

He simply couldn’t be anything else, the way he spoke other people’s thoughts, the way he knew her moods as if by instinct, the way he told her of the past as if he had seen it for himself. 

But despite his deadly skill with knives and the way he looms over her like an overgrown tree, Lace never felt a shred of fear around him. And so she took him down every tunnel and rat hole in the place until they uncovered enough treasure to live like kings. In between his strange remarks, she regaled him with tales of her youth, the stories behind the scars on her knees and her back and her arms. 

He listened with wide eyed intensity, asking questions, sometimes finishing her sentences. She even got him to laugh. 

As the sun began its long descent to the horizon, Lace and Cole emerged from the last tunnel and headed to the oasis for a well deserved break. Cadash sunned herself up on the big rock in the middle while Bull snoozed on the shore and Solas waded, shoeless, in the water, gathering blood lotus.

“It looks like you two have had an eventful day,” he remarked. “You’re both filthy.”

Lace grinned at him and splashed water on her face. “Do I look a fright?”

“I can’t even see your freckles,” Solas replied, the corners of his mouth tugging up. 

“Of course you can,” Cole piped up. “They’re everywhere, scattered like stars, constellations on her skin.”

She splashes more water on her face to cool the sudden flush from her cheeks. 

Judging from the glint in Solas’s eyes, he definitely noticed. “My mistake,” he said. “Cole, make sure you wash up before you eat with those hands.”

“Eat. Right.” Cole looked down at his filthy hands as if such a concept had never occurred to him before.

And it just occurred to her now that she had never seen him eat before. 

“My father used to collect blood lotus,” she said as they rinsed off. 

“Did he make potions as well?” Solas asked.

Lace laughed. “No. He would make little bouquets out of them. He believed that every flower had a secret meaning to it and he would use them to send messages to my mother and I.”

“Ah, the language of flowers,” said Solas. “To my recollection blood lotus is . . “

“Fascination,” said Cole quietly. 

She grinned. “He used to give it to my mother after she would tell us the stories she daydreamed about that day. And he would always slip some onto my pillow on the mornings that he would take me exploring.”

“It sounds like you’re close with your father,” said Solas, giving her a kind, if piercing stare. “I’m surprised you left home.”

She shrugged. It still stings, thinking of them. “I couldn’t just sit back, you know, while everything went to hell.”

“You have become an invaluable member and I, for one, am glad for your presence,” says Solas. “And I suspect I am not the only one.”

Before she could ask what he meant, Solas excused himself and waded back out the water with his armful of blooms. Lace gave her reflection one last once-over before checking up on Cole. 

“Did I get it all?” Cole asked, presenting his hands for inspection. 

Lace took them in her own and checked underneath his fingernails. His hands felt much warmer than the last time she held them, slightly pink and no longer pale as bone. His cheeks also held a bloom of color that wasn’t present when she met him. A streak of dirt smeared over his temple. 

“You missed a spot,” she told him fondly, pulling him down to reach it better. She must have yanked harder than she thought, or at least expected more resistance than he gave her, for their noses bumped against each other and his lips brushed hers for just the smallest second before Lace jerked away. 

“Sorry,” she said, wincing and rubbing her nose. 

This new proximity made her acutely aware of several things at once --the flush on his cheeks, the locks of white blonde hair that hang in his eyes, the dark pink of his plush mouth.

Cole just gazed back in infinite patience, his eyes blue and fathomless as an ocean, and she knew, in that moment, that no matter what Cole might be, his soul was _old_. 

Lace swallowed, chest fluttering strangely, and swiped her thumb over the streak of dirt at his temple. 

Cole held perfectly still, the only sign of life the bloom of color deepening across his cheeks and the sound of his breathing. She had never heard him breathe so loud before. 

“There you go,” she said, releasing him.

He blinked, looking rather dazed. “Thank you.”

The next morning a small bundle of blood lotus hung from her tent frame, tied with a small bit of twine. Lace extracted it carefully and smiled slightly at the blooms before laying them next to her pack.

Solas must have done so, a playful reminder of their conversation. She intended on thanking him, but Cadash wanted to finally pack up and make the grueling journey back to Skyhold and Lace got too caught up in preparations to do so. Once she remembered, it had been days after the fact and she felt silly bringing it up. 

But she kept the blooms in her front pouch pocket all through the weeks it took to get home.

Every so often Redcliffe would get a hard winter -- snows that pile up halfway to the roof, the river frozen so completely you could ride a horse down it, nights spent huddled in the same bed for warmth. And the journey through the mountains to Skyhold was no picnic either.

But nothing -- _nothing_ \-- could ever prepare her for the cold of Emprise Du Leon. The cold sunk and buried itself deep in her bones, the wind driving it past the layers of leather and furs. The sun hangs like a ball of dough in the sky, a mockery of warmth. 

It was almost enough to make Lace miss the unrelenting heat of the Western Approach. 

Almost.

When Cadash finally arrived, she looked already sick of this place. Her eyes glared balefully from underneath her fur-lined hood. To Lace’s shock, Cole stood in nothing but his usual armor and a fur lined parka. 

Not even gloves protected his hands, red and chapped from the wind. 

Lace turned an accusing glare to Cadash, but the Inquisitor sniffled and looked like utter misery herself; Solas and Cassandra both casted worried glances over at her. 

Once Lace got finished informing the group all the ways this place sucked in particular, she grabbed Cole’s hand. 

“Can I steal him for just a moment?” she asked Cadash. 

Cadash flapped an exhausted hand at her and then returned to her discussion with Cassandra. 

“You can’t steal what’s freely given,” Cole murmured behind her as Lace dragged him over towards the supply chests in camp. 

They’d been ordering and making as many extra coats, gloves, liners, and blankets as they could get their hands on to redistribute to the people here. Lace dug around in the chest until she found fur lined leather gloves and socks.

“Here,” she said, shoving the gloves in his hands. “Put these on. And stash these socks somewhere until you make camp and put them on. Aren’t you _freezing_?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding almost surprised by that fact. “I’ve never been freezing before.”

Cole tugged the gloves on, and the change on his face once his hands met with warm fur would almost be comical if she didn’t want to smack him for his ignorance. 

“Well get used to it,” she said. “That’s all this place is -- freezing.”

Her eyes track him up and down -- they have fur lined cloaks, but those might be too hindering in a fight, especially with knives. Besides the gloves and the socks, she doesn’t know what else to give him --

Wait. 

“Oh. And here. Take this too. You need more than I do.”

She unwound the scarf from her neck and wrapped it around his neck, tugging him down again (but with more care this time) so she could reach. She tucked the ends inside his chest plate and crossed her arms, satisfied. 

“There. That should help.”

Cole glides a hand over the wool. “Your mother made this. Always worried. It’s not blue like the last one but she hopes you like it anyway.”

Lace swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “Yep. It was delivered right before I left for this place. And thank the Maker for it.”

“I shouldn’t take it from you,” he said, moving to tug it from. “I’m the one who helps, not the other way around.”

Her hands jerk to his, fingers curling over the edge of his palm before slowly tugging them away. 

“Don’t you dare. You need it more than I do, trust me. And you’re just borrowing it. I expect it back once we’re done with this frozen hell hole.”

For a long moment Cole just looked at her, his expression inscrutable. 

“Thank you, Scout Harding.”

She cringed inside. Her title and last name sounded too formal in his voice. 

“You can call me Lace,” she said. “Or just Harding.”

The corners of his mouth tugged up. She’d never seen him really smile before. “Yes. The other name doesn’t fit in my mouth. It’s not bright enough.”

“Cole!” Cadash’s voice sounds from up the ridge. “Let’s get a move on, buddy. This place is full of dawnstone and we’re gonna make Iron Bull a happy man soon.”

Cole pulled his hands slowly from her grip and that’s when she noticed she was still holding on to him. 

“Good luck,” she told him. 

“And to you.” He bowed his head to her before walking away. 

How anything could grow in this desolate frozen hellscape was beyond her but a few days after the Inquisitor appeared, so did a vine of Arbor’s Wild curled along her bedroll. During her watch, Lace huddles by the fire and idly wrapped and unwrapped it around her arm. 

Arbor’s Wild -- _the warmth of love or fondness._

Was it a prank? A joke? But who knew this language besides her? Well -- Solas did. But not only had he denied it -- and she didn’t think he was lying -- it only accounted for the Blood Lotus in the Forbidden Oasis and the Arbor’s Blessing here. 

No one but her other scouts could have given her the Crystal Grace. So it had to be one of them.

Lace sighed and poked the fire with a stick. It was too cold and she had too many other concerns to worry about this.

When she was a little girl -- well, actually, right up until she left home -- Lace yearned to travel and explore, to see something new rather than the same sights of her village that remained unchanged her entire life. 

She got exactly what she thought she wanted with the Inquisition. She’d seen dragons and desert mirages and icicles taller than the Inquisitor’s bedroom and yet the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen was her tiny cot in her tiny room in the barracks at Skyhold. 

Well, okay, the _most_ beautiful sight would be her farm back home. But her cot ranks pretty high up there, along with the view from the battlements a night or the tavern during someone’s birthday. 

No one ever told her how exhausting traveling could be. And now, with the Inquisitor and several of her whole entourage off at Halamshiral, Lace could enjoy a few weeks of peace and quiet. 

And enjoy them she did. She finally got caught up on Hard in Hightown, giggling months after the fact about Varric’s joke on her name when they first met. Dalish challenged her to an archery contest. She drank Krem under the table and beat him at cards. 

And she hosted dancing lessons, in honor of the ball they didn’t get to attend. Cabot graciously cleared out the middle of the bar and Maryden plucked waltzes from her lute. 

“Where did you learn how to dance?” Charter demands, laughing, as her hands circled Lace’s waist. 

“My mother. She paid someone to teach me hoping that it would help me become a delicate young woman,” Lace said. 

Charter cackled. “Yes, it worked so well.”

“That’s funny, my mother did the same thing,” pipped up Krem. “You can definitely see how well that worked out.”

The tavern erupts into laughter and Lace basked in it.

“Alright, Krem Puff. Let’s see what you got,” she told him. 

“Gladly!”

Krem set his drink down and sauntered over to her. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and there was a moment of awkward fumbling as his hands flailed around her waist. 

Maryden plucks a jaunty tune for them, but Krem makes no move to start.

“Well,” said Lace. “Do you want an engraved invitation?”

Krem bursted into laughter. “Sorry. The way I was taught, I wasn’t supposed to lead.”

He pulled her into a reel, spinning her around the center floor until they both got too dizzy to continue. Krem crashed into one of the tables pushed to the side, causing the rest of the Chargers to point and laugh. Lace careens backwards towards a similar fate, too dizzy to make her feet work, before colliding against something solid and warm and not a table. 

Hands, long and elegant and familiar, clutched at her shoulders, stabilizing her as her head spun. Lace tipped her head back and grinned at the sight of wide blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. 

“Cole!”

“Lace,” he said, and yes. The word fit in his mouth, just as he said.

Lace might have been a little drunk by this point. She turned around to face him proper, still having to crane her neck up.

“Did you come here for dancing lessons?”

“No,” he said. “I was just watching. Head dizzy, heart full, music that curls in your ribs. They move, awkward like newborn foals, and step on your feet, but you don’t care. You’re having fun.”

“And you could too. Come on, let me teach you how to waltz.”

Before he replied, Lace tugged him towards the dance floor. Krem had Dalish in his arms, positing her arms around his waist while she protested loudly and lacking any real heat. 

Cole stood like a doll ready to be moved. Lace took his hand and placed one on the dip of her waist and slipped the other into her own hand, fingers twining together. It was a bit of a reach for her to grab onto his shoulder with the other hand. 

“Aright, it’s very simple,” she said. “You step forward and then to the left. Then backwards and to the right.”

She guided him slowly through the steps as Maryden plucked out a softer tune. It took Cole very little time to pick it up, his movements just as graceful and silent as she had seen in battle. Soon she passed the leading reins over to him and they glided across creaking floorboards until the sounds of the bar faded away and Lace could almost imagine herself at a fairy tale palace like Halamshiral. 

Cole did not step on her toes once, nor did he stumble or falter. And when the song drew for a close, the rest of the tavern applauded, causing a bright bloom of a blush to spread across his cheeks. 

“You have natural grace,” she told him. 

“I have a good teacher,” he said.

Lace managed to talk Cole into three more dances, despite his preference to lurk in the shadows and watch other people’s happiness. By the time dawn started poking it’s head over the horizon, Lace was well and truly sloshed, as was just about everyone in the bar. 

Suddenly the trek back to her bedroom seemed more treacherous than the trip to the Western Approach. Lace looked for the most comfortable booth in the bar still unoccupied and collapsed in it. 

A few moments passed -- or maybe a few hours, time was funny when you were drunk -- Lace felt warm, strong hands carefully extracting her from the booth. Instinctively her hands gripped the edge of the edge of the table.

“It’s alright,” said a soothing, familiar voice. “I’m trying to help you get into bed.”

“Cole?” She cracked one eye open to see his hand resting on her arm. “Just -- just leave me here. I’ve slept in worse.”

“Yes. Damp and dark, bright and hot, light that stabs and dark that hurts and rocks everywhere. Why are there always rocks? You deserve to sleep in your bed after that.”

She didn’t have the strength or the willpower to fight him, so Lace allowed Cole to tug her gently from the booth. 

“I’m not -- I don’t know if I can walk,” she admitted.

“I know.”

Suddenly the world tilted and skewed around her as Cole deftly picked her up like a bride and hauled her up to his chest.

It shocked her how warm he felt. Heat radiated from the crook of his neck where she buried her face, his pulse thundering in her ear. It seeped from his hands into her tunic, from his chest to hers, such a contrast to the cold stillness she had felt from him before. 

Whatever he was before, he felt well and truly _alive_ right now. 

In no time at all, Lace felt herself getting deposited into the familiar confines of her cot, the blanket tucked around her. When his hand slipped away she reached out to grab it.It stayed in her grip until she finally slipped back out of consciousness. 

The next morning a bucket, a tall glass of water, and an elfroot potion sat on her nightstand. 

Along with a single Embrium bloom. 

Lace didn’t notice it at first. She woke up with her head killing her and immediately chugged the water and downed the potion like a shot. It wasn't until after the potion started taking its effect that she noticed the Embrium, knocked to the floor in her haste. 

Her stomach flipped. 

Embrium -- _yearning_.

Whatever silly thought that tried to bloom from that was dashed immediately by her rationality. Whatever Cole _thought_ he was doing, it was not expressing some kind of romantic pining. He probably plucked it from some merchant down in the courtyard to brighten what promised to be a rough morning because Cole was that kind of person. 

He had no idea it would have had any kind of _meaning._

 _Yes, but he knows all kinds of things he’s not supposed to_ her mind whispered 

No. No way. 

She refused to believe it -- even if such a thought made her stomach flip strangely.

Still, she stashed it in a book where she had pressed all the others.

After so long spent fighting, normality now felt weird. The first thing Lace did after the defeat of Corypheus was book it to her family's farm. Her father held her for the longest hug of her life and her mother and sister couldn't stop crying. Lace herself couldn't stop crying. All the tears she had to swallow, losing her scouts, losing innocent people she tried to protect, losing her old way of life, came out unendingly.

It was the best week of her life, even if every crack of a twig or the shadow of leaves in the sun made her twitch and reach for her bow that never strayed far from her grip.

But at the end of the week, the same restlessness that sat in the back of her throat all through her childhood washed over her again, so much stronger now that she knew exactly what the world had to offer her.

Relief mixed with grief when she said her goodbyes two weeks later and made her way back to Skyhold. It was hard to tell which one won out.

Despite the mass exodus of people returning home -- and the mysterious disappearance of Solas, who left without word to anyone, not even to Cole or Cadash -- Skyhold still felt like a bustling hive of activity. The sight of the merchants in the lower courtyard hawking wares, Bull and his Chargers sparring by the steps, the tavern door open, spilling noise, made her sigh in relief. 

Somehow, despite spending most of her time trekking in the strange and beautiful lands of Thedas, Skyhold had become a home to her. The thought of its slow, dwindling death made her chest clench. 

It took her half an hour to cross the courtyard to get to her room for all the hugs and slaps on the back at her return. Iron Bull swung her up into the air like her father did when she was a toddler. By the time Lace finally made it to her quarters, she had been thoroughly harassed.

Not that she minded. 

And honestly, she was just glad her room hadn't been taken by someone else. 

"Scout Lucas begged for it but the Inquisitor wouldn't let him have it. She knew you would come back."

Even after all this, Cole's silent sneaking still startled the daylights out of her. She whirled around, hand on her chest, to see him hovering in her doorway like a ghost, his infamous hat gone.

"Sorry," he said, sheepish. "I didn't mean to scare you. People remember me now. I'm still getting used to it."

Lace just filed that way, along with all his other strange comments, and gave him a wide grin. "Funny how she knew that when I didn't know it myself."

"You like the adventure," he said. "Even when you complain."

"Yeah." Her smile turned fond. "Yeah, I do."

"I'm happy to see you back."

Without his hat to shield him, Lace could see the way his eyes ducked nervously between her and the floor. 

Her stomach does that strange little flip again. "Were you afraid I wouldn't come back?"

"I . . .was worried," he said carefully, his eyes lifting to hers. "You love your family so much. I know you missed home."

"This is also my home." she pats the wooden end of the bed. "And you're also a part of my family."

A smile -- the first true one she had seen from him -- spread slowly across his face. Lace had always seen the humanity in Cole, even when she strongly suspected him of not having any, but even she had to admit the full force of his smile dissolved whatever lingering coldness of his features. 

He was beautiful. 

"Damn! She did show up."

Lucas appeared behind Cole, squeezing his way into the room. "And I had almost convinced the Inquisitor that I should get your room."

Cole met her gaze, a smirk glinting in his eyes, and Lace hid a smile. 

"Well, too bad Lucas. Whatever bet you lost, you should pay up."

Cole slipped away while she and Lucas ragged on each other and Lace swallowed a surprising stab of disappointment. 

That night she crept up to the battlements. The full moons lit up the world around her like lanterns. The snow glittered in the mountains, almost too bright to look at. 

"Did you have a nightmare?"

This time Lace didn't jump -- already expecting him, smiling at the sound of his quiet steps coming up the stairs. 

"No," she said. "Just enjoying the view. I missed this place more than I expected."

"It missed you back. The songs you hum under your breath, the laughter in the tavern, the grace of your arrows in the training yard. The dancing."

She turned and grinned at him."I missed you too," she said.

He didn’t smile back. Instead, his fingers twitched nervously at his sides. 

"I have something for you," he said.

He carefully extracted something from his pocket and placed it in her hands. Lace's heart caught in her throat.

Amrita Vein.

"My father gives these to my mother on their anniversary," Lace said hoarsely.

"Yes. I know."

Of course he knew.

"Do you --" she swallows, mouth dry. "Do you know what these mean, Cole?"

"Yes," he said simply.

But he _can't_ possibly understand the implications --

" _You are the balm to my soul_. An expression of the deepest love and devotion," he added, quoting her father almost word for word.

He closed her fingers around the flower and held them there. "I know what they all meant."

The words curl up around her heart and seize it.

"They _all_ \--"

The Crystal Grace in her tent, the Dawn Lotus by her pillow, the Embrium, the blood lotus, the arbor's blessing --

" _You_ gave them to me? All of them?" Her voice cracked.

"Yes. And I meant every one."

The look in his face -- so kind, so patient -- steadied her as her mind whirled. It had been Cole the whole time. Even when she _hadn't met him_ . She strained to piece together memories of the flowers and what happened with Cole before. The gradual shift from _admiration_ to _total devotion._

"Especially this one," he adds softly. 

Her mouth opens -- then closes. Lace only ever had short lived flings, experiments in her little village. And though many scouts hooked up with each other during these crazy months, she never found the time or the energy for relationships. Not that many people tried to get her attention. With so many fascinating people from so many far flung corners of Thedas, a farm dwarf from Redcliffe faded in the background.

So did someone like Cole -- strange and wonderful Cole, beloved of the Inquisitor herself -- even notice her?

"How could I not notice you?" he said. "All the ways you help us and guide us. Solid and steady, like the stone you come from. Freckles like stars and hair like a flame. They would not have lived without you."

"I -- I don't --"

Never one to mince words or beat around the bush and yet she's tongue tied like a schoolgirl. 

"You don't have to say anything. You owe me nothing in return. I just wanted you to know."

He gave her hand one last squeeze. And then he melted in the shadows and disappeared.

Lace did not get much sleep that night. She spent many hours lying in the dark, exploring the crevices of her mind the way she would any cave, searching for something useful, something _true._ Cole was sweet and gentle in the way most boys she knew had never been. Many times she caught him sneaking cookies into Sera's room, extra blankets to the wounded, a nest of old shirts for a barn cat that had given kittens. 

He was also definitely not entirely human. He could read her mind. He appeared and disappeared without a sound. He could slit someone's throat and gut them like a fish with those knives and not even bat an eyelash.

Not to mention his air of wide-eyed innocence; she would bet her entire paycheck that he had never been kissed before. Hell, before tonight, she would have bet her entire paycheck that he didn't ever _want_ to be kissed. He seemed beyond mortal affairs. 

And now, suddenly, he wasn't. Could she trust his affections to be real or just an experiment for himself? 

She wished, deeply, that Solas was around for her to ask him.

Instead, Lace tossed around in restless sleep until dawn.

The next morning she dragged herself blearily to the merchants as soon as she heard their hawking and hustling. One stall in particular sold the flowers and herbs, taking the leftovers of whatever Lace and her scouts had found for the Inquisition in addition to some kind of black market trade. 

Lydia was more than happy to grant Lace the lone flower she requested, free of charge. Lace ducked into the tavern, the place empty and smelling of last night's ale, and crept up the creaking stairs to where Cole -- stayed? Slept?. 

In what used to be a bare corner now housed a nest of blankets, a pillow, and a hodgepodge of random junk, which he hoarded like a magpie.

Maker was he sleeping on the _floor?_ There had to be an extra bed somewhere --

"Good morning."

Cole spoke quietly behind her, standing halfway up the stairs, which did not creak for him the way they had for her.

Words died in her throat. To be honest, she had hoped he wouldn't be here.

But luckily for her, she had something to speak for her.

"Here," she said, thrusting the flower to him.

 _Prophet's Laurel_ \-- _New love, small and fragile, with potential to grow_.

He took it gently in hand. Her fingers clenched, waiting for his reaction, worried he might be disappointed in it. It definitely didn't carry the depth of feeling as his own offering.

As soon as the smile burst free across his face, Lace knew she needn't have worried. It broke like the sunrise, almost too bright to look at.

Then he stooped and bent her cheek, the quickest peck, almost like a birds’.

She’d have to teach him later. 

"Would you like to get breakfast?" he asked her. "I'm still learning to eat."

Lace swallowed the flare of curiosity. She'd have plenty of time to figure him out later.

"Sure," she said.

He bowed and let her walk ahead, a gentleman, hand on the small of her back just how she spotted Varric doing to Josephine once.

It was the first breakfast of many together in kitchens.

And, laying as if forgotten on the table, were stems of Crystal Grace.


End file.
